


Loosing Track of Reality

by forgettingthedetails



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Sadstuck, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgettingthedetails/pseuds/forgettingthedetails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is DAVE STRIDER and that is not your bro- not the bro who fought off a meteor for you, that is not the bro with a sword through his chest.<br/>Your name is DAVE STRIDER and this is the first time you don't think you can keep your cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loosing Track of Reality

Your name is DAVE STRIDER you are think you are 13 YEARS OLD. You stand in your bedroom for the first time in 4 years. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent your bro loved, and the droning music of that totally ironic game he always played haunts your senses. God, you hated that game. You always tried so fucking hard to beat it, like a silly game could matter so much.

You don’t think you can ever play a video game again.

You have been home for a day, one, single, day, and your entire life has fallen apart.

More than it had been.

You sit up on your bed, the familiar red converse that you always wore, before reaching god tier of course, hitting the ground. The sound of the rubber against wood was one you didn’t like, your ears were so sensitive after being in silence for so long.

Suddenly, lil’ cal is sitting next to you on your bed. You flinch back instinctively, reaching for the sword you haven’t put down since you got home. You sleep with it by your side, seat it next to you when watching T.V., grip its familiar hold while pestering your school friends.

Not your friends. Your friends don’t talk to you anymore.

You smirk to the best of your ability, looking up at your bro who is now seated in your computer chair. Your very alive bro. He knows you’ve been kind of off your game recently, and has tried to cheer you up, but you just….

  
It’s not the same.

“Hey kid, you up for getting some dinner?”

You shake your head, looking down at your feet through your favorite shades. The only thing you have left from Sburb, the only proof of John, Rose, and Jade; the only thing keeping you sane. Those glasses. John gave you them so many years ago, and you can’t let go of them.

No, you would go crazy.

“Dave, listen, you haven’t eaten in a fucking day there is something up and we are talking about it because our family here is fucked up as it is, we don’t want it getting any worse.”

You shake your head.

He would call you crazy. There is no evidence of you leaving, of him dying, of John, Jade, or Rose. Only the glasses. But he wouldn’t even believe you then.

“Come on.”

 

You shake your head.

“At least mess around with your turntables then-” You feel your eyes watering at even the slightest mention-”No? Okay, okay, play some video games then?”

“Can you just leave me alone for a little bit bro?”

“Kid, I can’t leave you alone anymore, you haven’t spoken a word to me in a day. Two days ago you were completely your totally rad, ironic self. What the hell happened? Did you get your period or some shit?”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

Bro strode over to sit next to you on your bed, pulling you into his chest for one of the few displays of affection you two have ever experience. From what you remember anyway.

“Come on kiddo, shoot.”

Instead of talking, you simply lean into his familiar white shirt. A few small tears gather in the corners of your scarlet eyes. Striders never cry.

“I-I just can‘t believe you are alive…”

He looked down at you, a small look of aw on his face. Disbelief.

“Dave why wouldn‘t I be-”

Without hesitation, you stand up, running to the roof.

That’s not your bro.

That’s not the bro with the sword through his chest, the one who fought by you to the very end. That’s not the bro who cut a fucking meteor in half for you. That’s not the bro you remember, he is different, he is normal. Well, as normal as a bat shit awesome and totally ironic leader of a puppet porn site could be.

Once you reach the top of the stairs, you look around for any signs that this is where you used to live. There is no missing rail from where you almost fell off the roof that one time, there is no blood stain on the corner of the air conditioner from when you first knocked bro off his feet, hell, there is not a crow anywhere in sight.

This isn’t were you live. This isn’t right.

Earlier that day, you had tried pestering all of your friends.

TurntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 08:40:20

TG: rose?  
TG: please tell me you know who i am  
TG: my ironic cool kid not-give-a-fuck persona out the fucking door  
TG: please  
TT: Excuse me?  
TT: I don’t think I know you.  
TT: Wrong chum handle.

Tentacle Therapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 08:42:36

Every single time. Every one of your friends, even your girlfriend.

None of them knew you.

You walk over to the edge of the roof, sitting down on the cement lip. A small blowing of wind through your blond hair.

Somewhere in the distance you hear a familiar piano refrain. It must be from one of the neighbors on a lower level, but something about it strikes you as familiar. The haunting tune was one that-

That easily, you make you your mind.

==> Dave: Be Dirk

You are now DIRK STRIDER, you are 28 YEARS OLD and you are VERY WORRIED. You have never seen your little bro like this, ever, and when he stormed off to the roof, you got nervous.

In an attempt to ignore the uneasy feeling about what’s going on, you casually update your smuppet website, but in about an hour, you can’t take it. You quickly stand, flash stepping to the roof where the door is still open. The pesky thing never closed.

Why he came here? You aren’t quite sure. You two do strife here sometimes, but not often. This place wasn’t exactly grade A or anything.

Looking around, you don’t have trouble spotting your little bro-

No.

Flash stepping, about 2 yards, right next to the air conditioning unit is your bro. Not the way you remember him though.

His shades are shattered, the fucking things just showed up over night, but he would not tell you where from. The glass that was once in their lenses now being grasped by the 13 year old Strider, he is not blinking, his chest is barley heaving. His lips barley moving, mumbling.

There are 3 very large cuts on either of his wrists.

No.

You kneel down next to him, trying to shake him, but he doesn’t respond, he doesn’t move. He just keeps mumbling.

No.

“Y-you can get up now” You whisper to the young boy in your arms “This isn’t funny”

No.

You reach into your pocket, dialing the only number that comes to your head at the moment, 9-1-1. It rings softly over the droning of the world around you.

In a number of minutes, the police show up, taking him away.

He was only 13 when he died.

Dirk ==> Sadly Regard Tomb Stone

Your name is DIRK STRIDER and you are 29 YEARS OLD. Recently, you lost your only family member, DAVE STRIDER.

Now you stand at his grave, 1 year later, placing red roses on top of the marble slab.

As you stand there, in your tuxedo, your shades off, the only sound you can hear is the mumble of his last words, a year ago on the rooftop of your apartment.

_I’m not a hero_

**Author's Note:**

> First post on this site! I'm sorry I'm still trying to figure out the formatting. Hope you liked it!


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